When the Past Catches Up with You...

When the Past Catches Up with You...

Chapter 5 - Uncertainty

Thick waft of mist densified around the formations of crags in the Carpathian Mountains. By this time, the temperature had been falling rapidly and Ron pulled his cloak closer around his body. Small cloudlets came out of his mouth when he swore to himself silently, trying to warm his hands by rubbing them together. He had spoken a warming spell but it only took effect on his clothes and the pockets in his cloak weren't deep enough to give his hands the needed warmth.

It was late evening and tomorrow the Quidditch World Cup would begin...

Ron had been coming home again quite late and Hermione had been gone, just like he had expected. Most of her things were still at their places but a note on a little piece of parchment, fixed directly to the front door, said that she would come round in a few days to get the remaining things. He shouldn't worry - when he would be back from Romania, everything would be gone.

Since Ron hadn't seen the necessity to stay in England, he got his already packed things from the bedroom and opened the drawer where he had saved a Portkey, a tiny wooden figure shaped like a bat. 'Typical Romanians - still proud of their vampires.' Amused, Ron shook his head and grabbed at the piece...

When he regained consciousness in a dark alley, there was a dull feeling in his stomach. He didn't like Portkeys in particular, every time he felt terribly dizzy. But momentarily it was the best and speediest alternative to travel between his home and the venue of the championship. The distance was too far to apparate; the stopovers would only slow him down unnecessarily.

He leaned against the wall shortly and had a closer look at his surroundings. He saw a sign at the house towards the main street, which had the words "La Liliac"^[1] on it. He had arrived exactly where the Romanian Chief of Security had set up an accommodation for him. He had got the Portkey from him, too.

Razvan Draghincescu was his contact person in Romania. With him he had developed the security plan for the World Cup. Because he and his team of local Aurors had been working together with Ron and his colleagues for months already, they didn't have problems with the communication anymore. Right in the early morning of the next day they would meet in the security centre at the stadium to sift through the last corrections and send everyone to their positions.

But now Ron only wanted a warm place near the fireside, a Butterbeer and a good talk with his brother Charlie, whose invitation for dinner he had received just a few minutes ago via owl.

Charlie wanted to pick him up at the outskirts of town and Ron didn't feel like staying at his quarters the whole time. Which was just as well, he could go for a walk, enjoying the evening. But he didn't think about the fact that it got colder much faster up here in the mountains than in the plain land around London. As a result he stood in a windless corner, slightly trembling when Charlie arrived a few minutes later.

"Hey Char'," Ron called and took a step forward.

Charlie turned around towards the voice and watched Ron stepping out of the shadows. A smile could be seen on his lips; it felt so good to see his brother again. Charlie strode towards Ron and hugged him.

"Ron! How long has it been since we last saw each other?"

"Far too long. It's really a pity that we only meet when a Quidditch Cup takes place here."

He loosened himself from his brother's embrace and took a step backwards to look him in the eyes. "I'm awfully happy to see you again, Charlie. But let's go somewhere more comfortable. I don't fancy freezing."

Charlie burst out laughing. "You're absolutely right. There's a small pub nearby where I spend time in once in a while. Really snug." He got at Ron's side and put an arm around his shoulders. "Come along, it's not far away."

Two streets further, Charlie directed him towards a tavern named "Cavitate de Dragon"^[2]. Ron had to smirk inevitably. "I ought to have known it."

"What?" Charlie looked at him, quite puzzled when they darkened the door.

"That a pub with this name is among your whereabouts."

Now it was Charlie who had to grin. "I didn't know that you knew Romanian." He had to admit to himself that he was quite impressed by his brother. He hadn't thought that Ron would be interested in foreign languages.

"Well, I understand it a little. After all, I have to be able to communicate with my colleagues here."

Charlie searched the small room and pointed at a table near the fireplace, which seemed to be the only source of light. "Let's take the table right there in the back. Then we can talk in peace."

While they were walking past the bar towards the fireplace, Ron took a quick look around. The room was quite small for a tavern, the number of tables could be counted with two hands. The furniture was mostly made of dark wood, giving the room a gloomy ambience. The low ceiling gave a restricting impression and the publican behind the bar didn't appear to be very friendly either. But it seemed as if Charlie knew him well because he raised his hand to greet him and ordered something to drink.

They sat down at the table next to the fireplace and enjoyed the warmth coming from it for a few minutes. After the publican brought them their drinks, Ron disturbed the silence existing between them.

"And? How are your dragons?"

"What? Ah, the dragons. Everything's as ok as it can be - except for an incubating female Opaleye; she's lost her way somehow. Don't know what affected her to make her come here. Anyway, she's quite aggressive, making the work nearby difficult. Apart from that, we're pretty busy at the moment with checking the security systems, so that none of them can escape."

"Wouldn't be appropriate if a Longhorn spiked the Quaffel," Ron joked and Charlie couldn't refrain from smiling at the thought.

"But now you're telling me something, Ron. How are you? What about Hermione?"

Ron's facial expression got severe in an instant. "Just let us talk about something different. That's a topic I really have concerned myself with enough."

"But what's wrong?" Charlie didn't like the tone of Ron's voice at all.

"Yesterday we broke up at odds." When Ron saw Charlie's worried expression he added "Don't ask. It was really bad. All I need now is space and a bit of distraction."

He couldn't deny himself a deep sigh and decided to change the subject. "Anyway, you're going to go to one of the games, aren't you?"

Charlie was a little taken by surprise by the news and the fast change of topic but he didn't want to press his brother anymore. "Sure, I just can't ignore an event like this, taking place right outside my door. You know how much I love Quidditch."

In the meantime the publican came to them at the table. Given that Ron didn't know the common food in this country, in spite of his occasionally stops in Romania, Charlie ordered something for him, too.

They talked about Quidditch and dragons until they were finished eating, when Charlie moved on to the Order. "And what about the hunt for Death Eaters?"

Ron's face had relaxed during their conversation, but now his features got dark again. "It's rather quiet of late. But now it seems like they're operating again. There was a school in France attacked."

Charlie looked at him, horror-stricken, but Ron didn't give him the time to handle this piece of news. "I fear that we have to count on an attack at the World Cup. I spent the last hours reworking the plans."

"But that would be terrible. So many people are coming together these days. Apart from the civilians, they would be able to snuff out a bigger part of the most important members of the magical world's population."

Ron only nodded. After a short break, he added "You'd think the Order gets more information now regarding adverse activities with double the number of spies, but apparently that's not the case." He couldn't deny himself a despising snort.

"Double the number of spies?" Charlie looked at him quite puzzled. "Have I missed out on something? I thought Severus Snape would be the only one. Do you have a whole gaggle infiltrating the Death Eaters now?"

"Not a gaggle." Ron had to laugh involuntary, for some reason the idea of a horde of frantic trolls rushed into his mind. "Besides Snape, we have another one of the Death Eaters, allegedly providing us with information."

"What do you mean by 'allegedly'?"

"I don't know if I should trust it all. I have no idea who this second person is. Actually, nobody knows. Only Snape, Dumbledore and Remus know him." Ron thought to recognise a twinkle in Charlie's eyes, but he brushed this thought aside quickly. "He doesn't come to any of the meetings and is the most treasured secret of the three. Any kind of communication only takes place with one of them. And the rest of us don't learn the slightest about him at all."

"That doesn't sound like it's inspiring confidence at all."

"Especially not when there's an attack taking place after a long time and we aren't warned in the slightest."

"Seems as if we have to be exceedingly on guard the next few weeks," Charlie returned with a gloomy face.

Their conversation still centred around the Order for a while until they got back to some more pleasant subjects. Ron relaxed again and was glad to give his thoughts a little distraction. It was good to see Charlie again and to hear something about what was going on in the more outlying regions of Europe. After all, the World Cup was the only thing he was engaged in recently.

When the publican finally pointed out that it was time to close, they ended their talk and left the pub towards the city centre, where Ron's accommodation was situated.

"Hey, I hope we're going to meet up a few more times during your stay," Charlie said when they approached the lights of the city.

"Sure, it would be nice if we could do that again."

"Okay, I'll send you an owl as soon as I know when I can come to the matches." He gave Ron a pat on the back. "See you soon."

"Bye, Charlie," Ron answered. He gazed after his brother until he had disappeared behind a corner of a building.

A few minutes later, Ron came to the place where the small but high building stood, in which he would spend the next nights. Nearly every light had already been put out. Silently, Ron entered the house and climbed the stairs up to the corridor, where his room was. Every few feet rested a torch being hung to the walls, letting the floors appear in an obscure light.

Ron went to his room, not worrying about setting a candle on his table alight. There was enough light from the street lamps outside getting through the window to make out the outlines of his chamber.

All of a sudden he was terribly tired and simply slumped onto his bed, not caring that he was still fully clothed. But instead of falling asleep immediately, his thoughts moved back to the events of the past day. He hoped, imploringly, that he was wrong...

^~~^~~^~

It was early morning and Draco had still a few hours of spare time until the first match of the World Cup would begin. Given that there wasn't enough time to attend the following steps regarding the black diamond, he decided to go to the Quidditch stadium to simply savour the atmosphere. After all, his father had never allowed him in the past to mingle with the "ordinary" people on such occasions and to enjoy the simple pleasures. Even at the last World Cup, when he had already come of age and was a fully-trained wizard, he had had no other choice than to submit to his father's orders. That had meant Apparating to one of the VIP entrances as quickly as possible and taking oneself directly to the places in the VIP-box.

The distraction would do him good, mainly because his head seemed to spin due to the fact that he had mulled over his new gained findings the whole night.

He had followed the small group of wizards to the dragon well and had watched from a safe distance how they fetched their unconscious colleague out of a crevice. Charlie and his companions had had visible problems during this task because scarlet flames darted from a cave near the cleft, confirmed by a growl which curdled Draco's blood.

Once in a while Draco could catch a glimpse of the dragon whose pearly scales reflected the sunlight. Since the dragon didn't come out of the cave, Draco wasn't even able to guess how huge the dragon was.

When he saw how problematic the rescue mission turned out to be, Draco began to doubt if it was actually a good idea to take on this creature. But the desire to get power prevailed and displaced the concerns to the rearmost corner of his subconscious mind. Now he knew at least with what he would have to deal. He had to consider well how he wanted to proceed. He didn't know at all how the dragon should be the key to his success. But he perceived that he had to go into the cave and the very thought of it quickened his pulse.

During the last few hours, Draco had tried to work out the events of the past day and to arrange a plan. However, it came to nothing so far. But now he wanted to brush this thought aside and just enjoy the match.

The more Draco approached the stadium, the more populated the streets became. More and more people were pushing towards the big event. Hardly anybody wanted to miss the first match of the World Cup. After all, the official ex-world champions France had to play against the host Romania, fourth place at the last tournament - an absolutely top clash.

It could not be ignored who gained the most sympathies at this game. There were flags of the Romanian sign everywhere. Many people had dressed in the colours blue, yellow and red furthermore to show everyone their favourite, though some fans of the French team could be found in between. Every now and then Draco met a few wizards, singing the French national anthem proudly.

He shook his head, amused about the relationship to a nation, which was quite excessive in his opinion. For him there was only the match. Indeed he had one or two favourite teams, but for him only the quality of a team counted, not the matter of belonging to a special country. And it was because of this that he was nowhere near dressing in anyone's colours.

But perhaps it was just due to the attack at the French school that the mood of the French fans was more muted. Draco had surprisingly been able to get a Daily Prophet at his inn. The headline had been highly visible. And by means of the pictures at the other home and foreign newspapers, Draco was able to make out that the topic had been spread fast. Apparently, they were all sure that it had to be the work of Death Eaters. Draco didn't put something like that passed Voldemort but he wasn't exactly sure about his own opinion since he hadn't found out about such an activity up until now. 'But I haven't been at home for a long time at all. Who knows what has been going on while I wasn't there. After all, Lucius' letter yesterday was the first since...' In any case this news induced him to be more one his guard than before. 'Perhaps it was actually a last-minute decision... Or... are they suspicious and don't trust me anymore?' But it was no use to rack his brains, which was something he agreed to. His next encounter with Lucius would be interesting...

After a while Draco came to a large place, which was located directly in front of the stadium. There were plenty of stalls with fan items, brochures, Quidditch equipment and many other things the sellers tried to dispose of.

Draco wandered around the place for a while and watched the people. When he suddenly caught sight of a familiar face, his body went rigid but the person disappeared quite fast into the crowd, giving him no chance to follow. 'I could have simply been wrong. But what, if I'm not? He's definitely not the type to come to a match for sheer fun. I thought Lucius would still take up some of his time.'

Draco walked towards the entrance of the stadium, pondering. He had to be on his guard. Should what he feared occur, he had to be able to react fast. He didn't want to get in between the fronts on any account.

As a result of the ongoing war, the safety regulations were particularly high at this World Cup, so that everyone could only get inside the Quidditch stadium through one of the eight guarded entrances. Long rows of wizards from all around the world were forming, that was why it took a while until the people got to the sentries, who checked everyone they found suspicious.

By now Draco was glad he had got the ticket already the previous day. He was by no means the one who had the patience to line up more than once.

When he stepped through the archway he noticed the air around him crackling. 'What's this kind of magic? What kind of dangerous weapon should I be able to carry with me except for my wand?' But then he spotted a huge board on one of the walls, his name suddenly appearing on it. 'What? You're being registered?' Involuntary he had to sneer. 'As if that would hold back someone like Lucius...'

A wide staircase led to the desired VIP-lounge, for which he hadn't been able to get a ticket anymore, despite a murder threat. Instead he had to be content with one of the seats at the under part of the box seats. 'At least it's not a standing ticket. Though I'll probably get my neck dislocated down there,' Draco grumbled. When he finally reached his seat, inspecting the Quidditch pitch, he noticed that sentries were placed nearly everywhere. 'Does the Ministry consider an attack taking place?' Every passage way was protected and nobody was able to get into a zone he hadn't permission or a ticket for.

It didn't take long until a wizard, who was obviously the stadium commentator, stepped into the middle of the pitch, murmuring the Sonorus charm to announce the match. Draco couldn't understand him because he wasn't able to speak the Romanian language, but on every side of the stadium there were huge screens on which translations in various languages appeared.

"Welcome to the four hundred and twenty fourth Quidditch World Cup! We're pleased to be allowed to host this event and wish all guests an enjoyable stay as much as exciting matches!" Thousands and thousands of Quidditch-freaks applauded the announcer. But he recognised on the basis of several interjections that most of the wizards weren't eager for an excessive speech but rather wanted to see the long desired match immediately. Thus he brushed his thoughts about a somewhat longer welcome speech aside and gave the audience what they wanted.

"But now I don't intend to keep you on tenterhooks and am going to introduce to you the teams of the first match." Raucous bawling sounded through the rows.

"As the first team... the official ex-world champions France with its players... Jaques "The Twisted" Le Tort as Keeper... the Chasers Jean Camus, Rachel Breton and Madeleine Marquand... Pierre Gabin and Damien Faure as Beaters... and the Seeker Seraphine Serrault!"

The French players, all dressed in azure Quidditch-robes, flew into the stadium, encircled by hundreds of fairies, the mascots of the French. Fans of the French team waved their flags and cheered for their idols. The fairies, so tiny that they would be able to lie in a human hand perfectly, seemed to have been chosen by their wing colour which matched the colours of the French team's strip. With their fast movements, they immersed the stadium in a colourful glittering sheen, drawing large circles around the pitch and finally settling down at the side of their team.

Draco spotted a familiar face amongst the French players, wondering how he could know someone of this national team. But then he slowly remembered - the Triwizard Tournament in his fourth year at Hogwarts. The seeker had been one of the visitors from Beauxbatons, making advances to him all the time. He had to chuckle when he thought about Pansy's jealous behaviour. What would they have both said if he had told them at that time that he wasn't interested in girls?

Draco's thoughts got interrupted when the voice of the stadium announcer could be heard again. "...And as the opponents, the host Romania, fourth place at the last tournament with its players Marius Trausan as Keeper... Radu Diaconu, Angela Hurezeanu and Dan Tomuta at the Chaser-positions... the Beaters Viktoria Ceausescu and Cosmin Ionescu... and Adrian Perlea as Seeker!"

Between thunderous applause, the players of the host team flew into the stadium from the opposite side, blood-red capes billowing behind them. The players were followed closely by a huge black cloud, which disbanded suddenly and hundreds of bats disclosed themselves. The bats criss-crossed the stadium at a high speed, the flap of their wings ear-piercing.

When the bats had finally flown to the Romanian side of the Quidditch pitch, the stadium commentator announced the referee, an American wizard whose gaze looked as though he wanted to impale every single player.

"I don't want to blether any longer. Let the match begin!" The speaker left the pitch amid great applause and went to a panelled box from where he would apparently comment the match.

The spectators, wanting to see their teams in action, finally got to do so as the referee opened the wooden coffer he had brought with him to release the Bludgers and the Golden Snitch. In the meantime, the players had gathered around the referee, waiting for the Quaffle which got thrown into the air shortly after.

The French players were faster and snapped up the Quaffle first - the match had begun. Like at most every top class encounter, the stadium commentator wasn't able to make large digressions, the moves were too fast.

"Camus... Breton... bad hit from a Bludger... Tomuta... Diaconu... GOAL!!! 10:0 for Romania!"

The stadium quivered. The Romanian fans stood on top of their seats and celebrated the players while the bat-cloud drew another circle around the pitch. The screens with the comments of the stadium announcer showed a slow motion replay of the shot at the French hoops by Diaconu along the way.

And the match went on. "Hawkshead Attacking Formation by the Frenchmen... Marquand... Camus... GOAL!!! 10:10"

Now it was the fairies' turn to express their joy by sweeping through the crowd of spectators with their colourful strokes of wings.

The match was balanced for a long while, none of the teams made it over a margin of thirty points. It was a high quality match, not being boring at any time. Every team showed its skills by different manoeuvres and tactics but fouls weren't missing and one or another player gained several wounds.

Draco savoured the ambience at the stadium; perhaps it hadn't been that wrong at all to not be in the VIP-lounge. He hadn't seen such a good match a long time ago. The French team took a time-out to get their keeper vetted. He had been hit with one of the Bludgers right in the stomach, causing him to fall backwards through one of the goal hoops, only to land on the sandy soil in a free fall.

In the meantime, Draco's gaze skimmed over the stadium. Here and there, opposing fans of the teams had got into quarrels and the watchmen had plenty to do for calming the wranglers again.

At one of the lower entrances, near the tunnel from which the Romanian players had come out, stood another small group of sentinels. They seemed a bit worried. Draco could make out that more than one wizard was speaking at the same time. Suddenly the blond froze because a figure stepped out of the entrance, a figure like one he had seen before, just the other day. But this time it couldn't be a mistake. What would the dragon keeper be doing in the midst of a group of Aurors? His neighbour had laid down his magical binoculars onto the balustrade in front of him while he was arguing with another spectator about the most capable seeker. Draco took the Omnioculars and focused it at the group. "It is him." His heart began to beat fast all of a sudden. "What is HE doing here?"

Draco knew that Ron sometimes worked for the Order but besides that he had no clue about the things he did. Suddenly, he got the urge to run to him and take him out of the stadium. He wasn't really sure if something was about to happen but he was reluctant to leave it to chance - Ron could be in a dangerous situation. He owed him too much, he couldn't just watch and do nothing.

But suddenly his sanity called in again and told him that he should not be a fool. What would that look like? A fearful Slytherin, anxious about someone he hadn't seen in years who probably hadn't spent a single thought about him.

But before Draco realised it, Ron had disappeared again, leaving him with doubts about his senses for a short moment. The voice of the stadium commentator cut through his thoughts, announcing that the match would go on now. Players flew over the pitch in a muddle and Draco lost sight of the opposite box seats.

It didn't take long until Adrian Perlea caught the Snitch with an audacious manoeuvre around the poles of the opposition hoops, finishing the match at a score of 350:180 for Romania. Raging rejoicings flowed through the stadium, supported by the frantic flutter of bats, when the Romanian seeker flew triumphantly his lap of honour, the Snitch still clutched in his left hand.

But when he flew right by the VIP-box an immense explosion rocked the circles...

^~~^~~^~

[1] La Liliac (Romanian) - The Bat
[2] Cavitate de Dragon (Romanian) - Dragon's Lair